Missy lets out a laugh and throws her head back with a gleeful shake.
"Ohh, I like you." She swivels toward James, lifting a hand with a flourish. "Two more Cosmos, please."
I push the text from my mind. There’s no point in dwelling on it. He’s thousands of miles away, and I’ll never see him again. I just have to remember to block his number. But that feeling, just for a second when I saw his name nestled among my other notifications, it had crept in like a ghost. That quiet, familiar presence. Like he was checking in on me, just as he always had. That sense of being watched. Monitored. It had been years of it… of his shadow trailing me. And for a moment, my body responded as if caught in time, frozen in that terrible, suffocating grip. Then—Missy’s voice. Sharp and bright. A lifeline. She’d pulled me back, reminded me … I am free. Free from him. Free from that weight pressing against me.
We wait for our cocktails, chatting about utter nonsense, and as Missy looks at me through her sharp green eyes, I’m reminded of a certain grumpy neighbour. My curiosity flares as she hands me my cosmo, and I take it, casually asking, “So … what’s the deal with Ford?”
Missy lifts a brow, smirking like a cat that’s caught a mouse.
“You like him or something?”
I nearly choke.
“Oh, no. No, no,” I stutter, waving a hand in front of her like I can physically swat the idea out of the air. But even as I deny it, my mind betrays me. I think of his taut forearms as they lift my suitcase with ease, veins like rivers under sun-warmed skin.
And then this morning, colliding with him, chest solid, hands steadying me. Big, calloused, warm. There was something about Ford’s grip thatmade me forget the way men’s hands have hurt me before. The weight of his hands hadn’t felt like a warning; it had felt like an anchor.
Missy clears her throat.
I blink, jolting out of the daydream. Oh God. I just full-on spaced out, mentally ogling her brother.
“No, really,” I blurt, cheeks heating. “It’s not like that.”
She’s not buying it, and truthfully? I can see why. Her eyes narrow and she takes a long sip of her drink, like she’s trying to decide just how much trouble I’m in.
“I was just wondering why he’s so ... grumpy,” I add, swirling my glass and trying to look nonchalant.
Missy snorts.
“He’s always like that. But honestly? He’s a good guy. He’s just been through it … After Dad died, and then his ex leaving him, he kind of took everything on himself. The ranch, the bills, the family. He’s got this man of the house complex, feels like he’s got to do everything himself. It’s annoying as hell sometimes, but ... he means well. He just doesn’t always know how to show it.”
I let Missy’s words settle over me. There’s something raw in the way she says it. She’s peeled back a layer of her brother I hadn’t dared imagine. And suddenly, the gruffness, the brooding, the sense of weight he seems to carry, it all clicks into place, and it makes my chest ache a little. The kind of ache that sneaks in when you realise someone’s been fighting battles that you didn’t know existed. I know how that feels.
Missy must notice a shift in my expression because she lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Ugh, okay … vibe check. We’re spiralling into Sad Town, aren’t we?” she mutters, scrunching her nose like the thought offends her.
I give a little laugh, grateful for the release.
“Just a bit.”
She leans in close, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Wanna hear something that would absolutely make him die if he knew I told you?”
“Always,” I say, straightening like I’ve just been offered front-row tickets to the best gossip in town.
She grins, wide and wicked.
“Ford wasn’t always the human thundercloud you know today. Once upon a time, his favourite band was that British girl group the Spice Girls. You know them?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I blink at her, mildly offended.
“Do I know them? Me and my sister loved them! We had matching scrunchies, and I always wanted to be Baby.”
Missy snorts.
“Of course you did.”
